Happiness is a Warm Wand
by diasaurusrex
Summary: While the war progresses even after Voldemort's death, Hermione struggles to deal with the death and destruction all around her. She begins to cope by shutting off her emotions, and those around her grow worried as she deteriorates. It takes the person who was always able to pull the most volatile emotions from her to bring her back to herself. Draco Malfoy.
1. She's Not a Witch, Who Misses Much

A/N: Ok, so I am terribly, terribly new at this! Please be gentle and constructive with me, dear readers! I have never done this before, and I am not sure if I like what I've written or not yet.

OH. I do not own any of this. J.K. Rowling, demi-god that she is, owns all of the characters and original story rights. 

* * *

Blinking sleep-filled eyes, Hermione squinted into the dark room in confusion. She felt a scratchy blanket fall off her shoulders as she sat up, and winced as she felt her back crack in protest. Feeling a pang in her right arm, she blearily took in the bandages wrapped tight around it and felt panic rise in her throat.

"Whh.."

It was almost physical, the pain she felt every morning, when she woke up and for a few, brief moments, didn't remember what her life was like now. She gasped as each memory hit her, like small but powerful fists to her gut. It wasn't over. The war wasn't over, and she wasn't at home with her parents or at Hogwarts in her soft bed. She had been injured. She was in a safehouse somewhere in France, sleeping on a lumpy mattress placed on a hard, warped, wooden floor in a musty room.

Bending at the waist, she brought her hands up to her face in fists, pressing them tightly against her eyes as if this could keep the images from invading her brain. She was lost. They were all lost.

* * *

"What do you want me to do?"

She heard the growl of Pansy's voice from inside the small kitchenette. Pausing by the door, she took a few deep breaths before entering.

"I can't go back there. You can't make me!"

Pansy's entire body was stiff with emotion, her blonde hair grimy and her mouth set in grim line. She didn't even glance at Hermione as she quietly made her way over to the pantry. Her glare was directed at a thin framed man sitting at the slanted kitchen table.

"Yeah, Pans, that's the difference, isn't it?" Blaise retorted, his voice low and threatening, the anger in his eyes a match for Pansy's.

"You don't HAVE to go. They won't make you."

Finding the packet of instant oatmeal, Hermione quietly took out a chipped ceramic bowl and filled it with water, absent-mindedly tapping it with her wand. Pouring the packet into the now steaming water, she grabbed a spoon and stirred, anxious to escape this room and the tension that seemed to fill it to the ceiling. The fight was a repetitive one, and it wasn't any of her business.

As she moved towards the door again, she watched as Pansy began to wilt, her shoulders no longer squared and the fight leaving her eyes.

"I didn't come here for this."

Hermione heard her say as the door clicked shut behind her. Padding up the stairs, she could still make out Pansy's muffled and dejected voice.

"I didn't come to their side so I could die by a Death Eater's wand. If I wanted that, I would have just stayed."

* * *

Hermione peeled back the sticky bandages, ignoring the small sounds of disapproval Lavender Brown was making as she surveyed the damage. She was chiding her for not cleaning the wound enough, but already, she felt herself tuning out Lavender's high-pitched voice.

Hermione had become an expert at tuning things out. At first, after Voldemort's death, she had truly believed that things were going to be different. That for the first time in her young life, she wasn't going to feel the constant hum of danger at the back of her neck. She was going to be safe. She remembered the feel of Ron's hand clasped in hers as they looked over the bodies of their friends, classmates, family members, and enemies, and the relief that had swept over her in a guilty swoosh. They had survived. She had Ron and she had Harry and she was alive. They wouldn't have to worry anymore. They could have their normal lives back.

But nothing had been the same. Over the next two weeks, what was left of Voldemort's army had collected themselves and began to attack muggle London. Harry was a shell of who he used to be, broken and scarred from the deaths he believed to be his fault. The Ministry had spirited him away somewhere, using his image and his words as propaganda for the new fight, and she hadn't seen him in almost a year.

Ron had tried, really tried, to make their relationship work. The Ministry had offered much the same as they had to Harry to the two of them, and Ron had gladly accepted. They had an enormous row that night. She had wanted to fight. She had needed to fight. She couldn't imagine hiding now, when they were needed the most. In the end, she had gone with Ron and the Ministry, more for his sake than for hers. She spent their nights together holding him while he sobbed over the dead, telling him that she loved him and that it would be ok. Over the next few months, though, she couldn't help but feel anger at his cowardice slowly creep into her heart, until one day, Ron woke up and turned over in the bed they had been sharing to find her side empty, her things packed and gone.

She had thought that fighting would have stilled the itch she felt somewhere in her chest, the one that told her that she needed to do something, to help. Instead, she had felt the itch become a hole that widened with each person she had killed, each body of a friend she had recovered, each time she had to retreat. Her sanity had been stretched taut, and she hadn't been able to sleep, the faces of the dead flashing across her vision each time she closed her eyes.

Hermione honestly didn't know what was worse. When she had felt like that, a black hole whirling where her heart was supposed to be, or how she felt now. Able to tune out the death, tune out the people around her, and instead of a hole or an itch, a heavy, leaden feeling of nothingness.

"...you'd think being muggleborn, that you would know how important it is to change the dressings on your own." Lavender intoned, her wand siphoning the infection out of the mottled and broken skin on Hermione's arm.

Hermione blinked rapidly, slowly coming back to reality, as Lavender turned away from her for a second. Glancing down at the wound on her arm, she felt her stomach lurch, and she quickly looked away.

"You need to spread a dollop of this potion on it twice a day to keep it clean and keep the pain down." Lavender scolded, placing a bottle with a thick, light pink salve in it next to her on the bed.

"I won't be here next time to do this." Lavender said, busying herself with packing up the rest of her healer's bag.

"The Order said they would find another healer to come, but I don't know who they will be or how good they are, so please Hermione. Use that potion, ok?" She said, pausing at the door frame to glance back at her with a worried look.

Clearing her throat awkwardly, Hermione opened her mouth as if to agree verbally, but closed it quickly and just nodded. With a motherly sigh, Lavender had turned away and bustled through the door, leaving her to curl up on her bed and let everything fade to black for awhile.

* * *

Anger flooded her as she heard the loud laughter floating up from downstairs again. Her arm was buzzing with pain, even after she had smoothed the bubblegum pink balm all over it, and all she wanted to do was sleep so she couldn't feel it anymore. Closing her eyes and huffing out an annoyed breath, she tried again to empty her mind. Snapping her eyes open when she heard another loud peal of laughter, she felt the anger in her veins fizz over, and she ripped the blanket off her form.

Bursting into the kitchen prepared to read Pansy and Blaise the riot act, she was stopped dead in her tracks when she saw who was leaning against the tiny stove in the kitchenette, his lanky body shaking with laughter at something Blaise had just said.

Three heads turned towards her, but only one pair of silver-gray eyes locked on to her own. She instinctively held her injured arm close to her as confusion racked her brain. She had heard the rumors that he had defected and come to their side, but she had dismissed them with a judgemental wave of her hand. She would never have believed it if he hadn't been standing right in front of her.

"Granger." He drawled, a smirk grazing across his lips.

"Malfoy." She spat, hugging her arms around herself and dropping her gaze from his.

A silence blanketed the four witches and wizards for a few brief seconds as Pansy anxiously glanced between the two of them. Hermione felt a small flutter of something in her chest, and she shook her matted curls as if the movement itself could clear the confusion from her brain.

Malfoy looked different. It wasn't just the normal difference that comes with age; she would have expected him to be taller and have more muscles. It was his face. He wasn't scowling, and even his trademark smirk seemed to have lost some of its venom in the past year. Realizing that she was staring at him, she dropped her gaze to the floor, taking a step back towards the door as she raised her wand.

"If you're going to be having a party down here, you should maybe think about putting a silencing spell on the room." She hissed. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

Backing out of the room, she raised her wand and whispered "muffliato" before turning her back on the door and starting to make her way back to her room.

"It's one in the afternoon."

She stopped, and cocked her head in confusion before turning back to find Malfoy standing outside the door to the kitchen, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

"Congratulations, Malfoy, you can tell time." She croaked, wincing at the dryness in her un-used throat. This was the most she had spoken in almost a week. About to turn around again, she felt panic rise in her throat as she felt a strong hand wrap around her upper arm.

"Get off me!" She snarled, fighting down the terror that had risen in her stomach at being touched by someone.

"No." Malfoy snarled back, keeping his firm grip.

"Why are you sleeping at one in the afternoon?" He questioned, his face looming close to hers. Distantly, Hermione noted that he looked much more like his old self at this moment.

"I don't have to answer to you, Malfoy." She sighed, unable to keep the anger strong in her voice as she felt her normal wave of numbness crash back over her.

"You do have to answer to me." He snapped, his grip on her arm tightening as he balled his other hand into a fist.

"I'm Lavender's replacement, and because you've got her and everyone else at The Order worried about you, I have to stay here in this disgusting house until you're better. So you definitely have to answer to me."

Hermione felt something close to laughter bubble up inside her, and shook her head to dissipate it.

"You're here to heal me? Godric." She said, unable to keep a small smile from tugging at her lips. Lifting her fingers to her mouth in surprise at the unfamiliar feeling, she quickly frowned and tugged her arm out of Malfoy's suddenly loosened grip. He had a strange look on his face as he glared at her, and she turned around without another word. Before she reached the top of the stairs, she heard him speak again, calling up to her.

"What a surprise." She swore she could hear the sneer in his voice.

"A Gryffindor acting like a bloody fucking martyr. How melodramatic of you. I had thought you would be stronger than that. My mistake."

She heard the last of his words dully through the wooden door to her room. As she curled up on the mattress, she lifted her hand to her face, surprised to feel the wetness that was tracking down her cheeks.

* * *

"You have ten minutes, Granger, until I come in and get you myself."

Hermione grimaced into the thin pillow she was holding over her head. For the first time since she had left Ron, she hadn't been able to sleep. Malfoy's words from the afternoon before had bounced around in her addled brain for the rest of the day and all through the night. She hadn't been able to tune it out. She hated him for it, and she wasn't getting up. He could work on her arm later, when she'd gotten some sleep. Groping for her wand, she lazily cast a silencing spell on her door before turning over and closing her eyes again. She was nearly to blessed sleep when she felt the blanket being pulled violently away from her.

Malfoy stood over her bed, glowering down at her. Before she could scramble out of bed or find her wand, Malfoy waved his own and she felt her legs and arms snap together at her sides, and she started to yell.

"If you hadn't put a silencing spell on the door, you might have heard me coming." Malfoy said over her angry cries of protest, looking down at her rigid body like he was bored senseless.

"And that was the worst Alohomora I have broken through in a long time. Either you agree to get up and come downstairs so I can heal you and get far away from this bloody shit hole, or I keep that leg-lock spell on you and levitate you downstairs and do it anyways. Your choice, Granger."

Not wanting to see the look of satisfaction she knew her surrender would give him, she lowered her eyes and nodded, the anger that was welling up inside her making her press her lips into a thin line.

With a wave of his wand, she felt the muscles in her legs and arms relax. She noted with mild surprise that Malfoy must have mastered the art of silent magic, because she hadn't heard him put on or take off the leg-lock spell. Swinging her legs over the edge of her bed, she absentmindedly ran a hand through her crazy hair, pushing it off her face.

Malfoy had left the room as soon as he had released her, and Hermione grumbled to herself as she pulled on a grungy pair of sweatpants that had been lying on the floor. Grabbing her wand, she made her way downstairs and into the doorway of the small sitting room next to the kitchenette. Malfoy was already inside, rummaging around in a healer's bag with his back turned to her. She took a moment to take in her childhood tormentor all grown up. He was wearing muggle jeans and a rugby shirt, both a little threadbare. His trainers were muddy and worn down, and his scruff on his chin was visible every time he turned his head slightly. Even so, he still held himself with the same air of haughtiness he always had.

"Get your ass in here Granger. I don't have all day." He said, not even turning around.

Rolling her eyes, she walked in, plopping down on the dusty yellow couch that was the only other piece of furniture besides the table that Malfoy was working on in the entire room.

"I thought you were stuck here. So technically, you do have all day." She quipped, picking at the pilling faded fabric half-heartedly.

Acting as if he hadn't heard her, he turned around and stalked up to the couch, plopping down next to her with his wand outstretched. The sat awkwardly for a moment, both seemingly unable to look the other in the eye. Wordlessly, she unwound the bandage from`her arm and held it out to him. When he didn't immediately begin to work on It, she looked up at him.

"If you don't have all day, I'd suggest you get to it." She said through clenched teeth.

The strange look Malfoy was giving her was annoying, and the buzzing in her arm seemed all the worse with bandage off.

"You know, when I was told I was coming here and who I would be healing, I tried to refuse. I thought that you would immediately question my loyalty to The Order, that you would yell at me, or at the very least, throw a punch at me again."

Malfoy said, finally grabbing her arm and pointing his wand at the wound. Hermione bristled a little at his words. He was never going to let her forget about the time that she had punched him in their third year. She watched as he siphoned out the infection as Lavender Brown had, gritting her teeth at the slight burning sensation and ignoring his words. When he was done, he smoothed a different potion from the one Lavender had been giving her, and it immediately started to fizz, which was an unpleasant sensation.

"I'll be applying this twice a day until it draws out all of the curse." He said, wrapping up the wound with surprisingly gentle hands.

Getting up from the couch, he fixed her with his quicksilver eyes.

"I didn't think that anything could be more annoying than your know-it-all goody two shoes attitude at Hogwarts. But this, Granger? This is far worse. Get your head out of your ass. We've all lost people. You're being selfish."

White hot anger seemed to explode in her chest, and she jumped off the couch, whirling around to face him.

"You. Know. NOTHING about what I've lost Malfoy." She yelled, her fists clenching at her sides.

"If you've come here just to taunt the filthy little mudblood, then you might as well pack up and leave." She spat, feeling her face flush and her eyes prick with angry tears. Malfoy calmly ran a hand through his floppy silver hair, and smirked at her.

"That's a little better." He said quietly. As he walked through the door frame, he shouted back at her.

"Take a shower today, Granger. I may not think your blood is dirty anymore, but your hair is another story."

For the second time since he had shown up, Hermione felt the ghost of a smile on her lips.

* * *

A/N: OK! So that's it! My first ever chapter in my first ever fanfic. Please review. I won't know what to do unless you tell me where to improve!


	2. Curse, Curse Charm, Charm

A/N:

You guys are just so sweet! Thanks for all of the positive feedback. I'm going to really try to update this story pretty frequently. At the moment, I'm so obsessed with it that I don't think that will be too hard.

I'm having a little trouble with figuring out timelines. If you catch a timeline hole, let me know so that I can fix it. I'm trying to keep up with a lot of little details in this story, so I'm sure I could easily look over something.

I also don't have a beta reader. I know that I could just reach out to those in the beta reader section on this website, but I don't really know what the process is like. If anyone has any advice, please feel free to comment or message me.

I am trying very hard to stay true to basic character traits while creating my own storyline. Hermione isn't a helpless little flower, but she is vulnerable, as we all are, and I am doing my best to write her this way.

Again, please review. I love constructive criticism, and I am so pleased to see people following the story.

Lots and lots and lots and lots of love.

Dia

* * *

Malfoy sat at the kitchen table, his large hands wrapped around a now lukewarm mug. Not knowing how else to broach the subject, he decided blunt and to the point was best.

"What happened to her?" He asked Blaise quietly, watching as a range of emotions shifted over the fellow Slytherin's face. Sighing, Blaise dropped into the chair across the table from him, resting his chin on his clasped hands.

"What hasn't?" He replied simply.

* * *

He couldn't stand it when she was quiet.

It made him want to shake her.

Ever since his arrival, he had lived for the small sparring matches of wit and words they would inevitably find themselves in whenever they were in each other's presence for any amount of time. He'd quickly learned that she had good days and bad days, and that he could generally tell which kind of day it would be by how long it took her to get up in the morning.

Her bad days were much more often than her good, but Blaise and Pansy seemed to think she was doing better for some reason. While they weren't the only ones that stayed in the safe house, they were the only ones other than Hermione that spent most of their nights there at this time.

There were several other defectors from Voldemort's army under The Order's protection, but they split them up between different safe houses so as to prevent a massacre if a location was found. This particular house saw a lot of Order members with long-term injuries. He could tell from the way both Pansy and Blaise glanced at Hermione with worry or pity when she actually showed her face that they had somehow come to care for the girl in a way they didn't seem to for the other injured that game and went through their door.

He had quickly realized that he was sent here, not just to heal Hermione, but to play babysitter, as Blaise was increasingly missing for two to three days at a time at The Orders request. He was even able to drag Pansy along on a few of them, the fear she felt always rolling off her like thick, dense smoke before they apparated with a crack. Today was one of the days when both of them were gone, and the silence seemed to fill every corner of the small house as he performed his daily cleaning of Granger's wound. Looking up into her blank face, he cursed inside his head.

He seriously hated it when she was quiet.

He knew from experience that the potion he was carefully spreading on her arm was quite painful when applied to an open wound. She didn't even wince. It was driving him insane. Unable to take the dead air between them any longer, he cleared his throat.

"I see that you've been taking my advice."

He grunted out, having noticed her clean and relatively tangle-free hair. He mentally patted himself on the back for not shouting or screaming at her just to fill the empty house with some kind of noise.

Temporarily roused from her stupor, Hermione frowned at him and tugged on a curl.

"Why are you here?" She blurted out bluntly.

Having not expected her to say anything back, Malfoy was caught off guard momentarily. Trying to think of how to respond to this, he quietly wrapped up her arm, somewhat lost in thought. She continued to stare at him with those wide, dark eyes once he was done, drawing her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around her legs as she waited for an answer.

He knew that he didn't have to answer her, and that if anyone else had asked him, he would have been angry at the intrusive question. But honestly, he was just happy that she was speaking at all. Trying to think of exactly how to phrase it, he shrugged his shoulders and followed her example. If she asked blunt questions, she would get blunt answers.

"He killed my mother."

Her eyes widened slightly as she searched his face, watching as pain etched it's way across its surface. She didn't have to ask who he was. It was then, when he saw something close to pity in her eyes, that he felt the anger finally come. This broken woman didn't get to feel sorry for him. He was up in a second, fiddling with the potions next to his bag to keep the anger from bursting through his skin.

"Contrary to what your lot thinks, she really loved me." He left the following comment of "and I her" where it belonged, in the back of his head.

He knew that the venom in his voice was probably off putting, so when he turned around, he was expecting her to have already slunk off to her room, and not to be standing right in front of him, those damned wide eyes unblinking.

Before he could ask her what she was doing, he watched in surprise as Hermione reached a hand up to gently touch his cheek. Seeming to realize what she was doing, a look somewhere between confusion and embarrassment crossed her face, and she dropped her hand as if his skin had burned her. Malfoy stood, frozen still from his surprise, as she quietly exited the room.

She hesitated just before crossing the door frame, and looked back at his statuesque figure, unmoving and tense.

"I don't have "a lot" anymore, Malfoy."

He heard her say. Then, she was gone, leaving him to the insufferable silence again.

* * *

"Don't you DARE tell me how to feel, Malfoy!"

She screamed at him, one of her tiny fists raised in front of her as she glared at him.

He closed his eyes, trying not to smile. It had been two days since they had had one of their screaming matches, and he'd almost forgotten what her voice sounded like when it was all high-pitched and breathy like it was now. He pushed down the small bubble of guilt that was rising in his stomach, telling himself that these confrontations were good for her, that they made her actually seem alive.

"I'm not telling you how to feel! I am just telling you that if you want to heal, you're going to have to stop this bullshit!"

Malfoy roared back, happily feeding Hermione's flame.

"WHAT BULLSHIT?" She screamed, her hair almost seeming to get wilder as her emotions did.

"THE GOD DAMN PITY PARTY THAT YOU'RE THROWING FOR YOURSELF." He yelled, unconciously spraying spittle into the air with the force of his words.

"FOR GODRIC'S SAKE, GRANGER I AM SO SICK OF YOU MOPING AROUND HERE LIKE A PUPPY THAT'S BEEN KICKED TOO MANY TIMES."

He continued, anger and exhaustion coloring his features. Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say, because she came barrelling at him, battering her small fists against his chest as angry tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

"I AM NOT MOPING!" She screamed, her voice deafening in the tiny kitchenette.

He struggled to catch her flailing hands in his own, surprised at how much each of the blows hurt, and held them firmly. He found himself concentrating on her pink lips, the bottom one in particular. She had chewed and worried it till it was chapped and bleeding and he had the strangest urge to swipe his thumb across it.

She was violently shaking now, her voice little more than a whisper as she repeated those words over and over again, her hands desperately trying to pull from his strong grasp.

"Iamnotmoping. Iamnotmoping. Iamnotmoping."

Reluctantly, he let the guilt he felt for causing her outburst to guide his body, and he pulled her head forward and into his shoulder, effectively muffling the sounds until her voice was all but gone.

* * *

She lingered just outside the door of the sitting room, watching as Malfoy worked as quickly as possible on the bodies that lay scattered throughout the room. She felt her stomach heave as her eye rested on a boy, no older than 15, missing two fingers on his right hand. Turning to go, she stopped short when she heard Malfoy yelling her name.

"Get over here, Granger! I need you to hold this man's leg straight while I set the bone." He said, wiping a bloody hand across his forehead. When she hesitated, his face contorted with anger.

"NOW GRANGER!" He shouted, the stress evident in his voice, and she felt her body move quickly to his side. Kneeling beside the man, she thanked Godric that he had seemingly passed out from the pain as she gripped his leg tightly. Malfoy waved his wand over the point of the break, and she tried not to gag when she heard the bone click back into place. Not wasting a second, Malfoy turned to her, shoving a bowl into her hands.

"I need you to go to the kitchen and fill this with water, then use your wand to get it boiling." He said, sweat running down his forehead as he turned to help another patient.

Numbly, she stumbled to the kitchen, doing as she was told. It took a few deep breaths and more than one try to get the water to boil, and she carried it carefully back to the sitting room, placing it next to Malfoy on the floor as he worked on a woman with burn marks covering the left side of her face.

"How are you at healing spells?" He asked her, trying to keep the panic out of his eyes.

* * *

Malfoy silently watched Granger from the door frame, her back turned to him as she busily cooked something on the only working burner on the house's tiny stove. Viewing her much like a hiker would a baby deer, he didn't want to move or say anything for fear of sending her running.

"Shut up and sit down, Malfoy." She said, turning around.

She still didn't seem able to meet his eyes directly, but she was up before noon, so he wasn't going to complain, or even point out that he hadn't said anything. He hadn't expected to see her for days after she had witnessed the carnage the he had forced her to help heal after Blaise and Pansy had port-keyed a group of The Order's injured into their safe house. Afraid that if he took his eyes off her, the spell would be broken and she'd be in her room curled up in a ball again, he just stared at her warily for a few minutes. Hermione broke the silence.

"Do you want a nest egg?" She asked, turning back to whatever it was she was cooking in a small frying pan.

Frowning, Malfoy finally allowed himself to move, draping himself gracefully over one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

"What's a nest egg?" He asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he wiped crumbs and dirt off the rough surface in front of him. The whole place needed a good scourgify.

Whirling around in surprise, Hermione regarded him with a shocked expression.

"You've never had a nest egg?" She asked.

With a flash of annoyance, he snorted.

"Don't act all surprised, Granger." He said, half smirking. "If I recall correctly, half of our entire relationship consisted of you knowing things that I didn't, and me hating you for it."

He watched as a matching smirk flitted across her features. Pulling back from the stove, she swung the frying pan around so he could see the piece of bread with an egg being fried in the center of it.

"You cut a hole in the bread, and then crack the egg directly into it." She said, turning back to the stove. She waved her wand and he watched with interest as the nest egg flipped over in the pan.

My mum used to make them for me when she knew I was going to have a tough day ahead of me..."

When she stopped short, Malfoy looked up. She just stood there for a few moments in silence, before he saw with dismay that her body had completely tensed up, and her hand had stopped moving the frying pan. For a few, brief seconds, he thought that she might shake it off, continue cooking as if nothing happened, but he almost yelled in frustration when she simply dropped her hands and padded quietly out of the kitchen, leaving the bread and egg smoking slightly in the pan.

* * *

"What happened to her parents?"

Pansy gave him a sideways look as she floated a dish to him to dry.

"Why do you care, Draco?" She asked, leaning her slight back against the kitchen counter as she watched him charm the plate dry and place it back in a cabinet.

"The Order told me I couldn't leave until she was better."

He stated simply, running a large hand through his ruffled hair and trying to avoid Pansy's scrutinizing stare.

"What does what happened to her parents have to do with that?" Pansy questioned again. "And what did you do to get them to exile you here?"

Growling in frustration, Malfoy threw his hands in the air. Purposefully ignoring her other question, he focused on the first one.

"She's been here trying to heal that curse ridden wound for two months Pans." He said, trying to get her to understand.

"That wound should have been healed in six days, tops. Something else is going on here. She doesn't WANT it to heal. If I'm ever going to get out of here and back to being a field medic, than I've got to figure out what it is that is going on with her."

Pansy regarded him with cool eyes, and he could see the hesitation in her face.

"It's not my story to tell, Draco. " She replied, shrugging her shoulders helplessly.

"Well she's not telling it!" He said through clenched teeth, trying hard to keep his voice calm.

Something shifted in Pansy's face, and he turned around slowly, only to find Granger standing in the doorway. Meeting his eyes for the first time in days, he saw defiance and anger shining in her glare.

"They don't remember me." She said, her voice dangerously quiet and one hand fisted around her wand.

Not sure how to react, Pansy and Malfoy just stood in place, waiting for her to elaborate. Instead, she gave Malfoy a look close to the ones she used to throw at him after he had called her mudblood and held out her bandaged arm.

"It hurts."

She stated simply, moving out of the doorway. He followed her into the sitting room, trying valiantly to stuff the frustration he felt towards her deep down inside of him. Producing his wand from his back pocket before sitting beside her, he peeled away the bandage. He was pleasantly surprised to see that for the first time in the weeks since he'd gotten here, it looked a little better.

The curse she had been hit with was a nasty one. It was designed to rot whatever skin it had touched, and if it had hit her in the chest, she would have been dead within the hour. It was a slow, agonizing way to die. Someone must have worked quickly to stop the spread of the infection considering it had been contained to just her forearm.

"It was your father. The one who hit me with the curse."

Snapping his head up, he expected to see anger or fury in her face, anything other than that damned emotionless mask she wore most of the time, but her features were smooth and her voice steady. he waited for her to give him more details, but she simply stared at him blankly until he grew uncomfortable. Once he had wrapped the bandage around her arm, she got up and left him there on the couch, asking himself the same question Pansy had asked him earlier that day.

Why did he care?

* * *

"You could have told me that it was my father who had caused the injury!" Malfoy snapped as he paced in front of the crumbling fireplace in the sitting room.

The flaming image of Arthur Weasley's head had the good sense to look uncomfortable and sheepish.

"We didn't think it pertinent to the situation-"

"Not pertinent?" Malfoy hissed, unable to keep his anger tamped down any longer.

"I'm sent here to this disgusting house with instructions to heal my half-dead childhood enemy, who obviously is going through some kind of psychological trauma, and you think it's not pertinent to tell me that my father was the one who almost killed her?"

He heard the ghost of a sigh sizzle through the flames, and had to clench his fists to keep from hitting something. Anything.

"She's been through a lot-"

"Well I bloody well know that!" Malfoy sputtered, bringing his scowling face as close to the fire as he could.

"The problem is, no one will tell me what she has been through, and it's making it pretty fucking hard to do anything about It!"

Arthur seemed to pause, as if thinking over what Malfoy had just said.

"She doesn't have anyone, Malfoy." He said finally, unable to keep the defeat from leaking into his voice.

"Tonks is gone. Lupin is gone. Ron and her split, and she won't talk to myself or Molly. Harry is worse off than she is. She obliviated her parents and sent them somewhere no one knows of in order to keep them safe, with no guarantee that she will be able to reverse the magic someday."

Malfoy shook his head, almost unable to take it all in. As the pieces clicked together, he felt horror rise like bile in his throat. She had obliviated her parents. That was why she had told him that they didn't remember her. Blinking rapidly at the fire, he listened as Arthur continued.

"She was doing alright with everything at the beginning, but a month or two in, something changed. She was always a tough fighter, but this was different. In the past year and a half, she has been in and out of that safe house to recover from various injuries countless times. It was like something inside her had snapped. She had no regard for her safety anymore."

Arthur swallowed, his voice sticking in his throat with emotion.

"We started to notice that she was being reckless, but this last time, she took it too far. She made a stupid choice, and if Seamus hadn't been there to knock her out of the way of that curse, it would have hit her right in the chest and she would be dead right now. He barely managed to keep the infection from spreading. You have to understand, Malfoy, that even if we heal her, we can't just put her back out to fight when she has no regard for her own safety anymore."

"Have you told her that?" Malfoy asked, knowing the answer before it was given. If Granger had known they were planning on keeping her from fighting, that would explain her unwillingness to heal.

"We did, and she went ballistic. Told us that we couldn't keep her from fighting once she was better. Blaise and Pansy were there trying to calm her down, but she just wouldn't listen. Then all of the sudden, she just went catatonic."

Malfoy could almost see the worry behind Arthur's eyes, even through the fire.

"I don't care what you do or how you do it, Malfoy. Just keep her alive. Harry is barely hanging on by a thread, and we need him. If we lose her, we lose him."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, sneering at Arthur's image.

"Typical. Priority number one is to keep Potter alive, and screw anyone else unless they are important to him. I'll keep her alive, Weasley. But when she's healed, you had better get me out of this bloody hell hole. This is more than enough of a penance"

Malfoy hissed, quickly cutting off the connection with a brief jerk of his wand.

He wasn't sure why he was so angry at the aging red-head, but he was afraid that if they had kept talking, he would have said something to ruin their already hesitant relationship. He had withstood days of questioning with veritaserum before he'd been offered safety from The Order, but just because they trusted him didn't mean that they liked him.

His mind wandered back to the last time he had seen Granger before this. She had stood up to Voldemort with the rest of Hogwarts when he had brought a presumed dead Harry Potter forward, defiance practically radiating off her small frame. He could still see her chin thrust in the air, her hair wild around her face, as she jeered at the Dark Lord with the rest of the crowd, not even a sliver of fear in her brown eyes.

That was the Granger they all needed. It wasn't going to be easy to find her.

* * *

A/N:

WELL there you are!

Thanks again for all of the wonderful feedback!

LOVEloveLOVElove


	3. Like a BlastEnded Skrewt on a Windowpane

A/N:

Hey Ya'll!

Just wanted to say thanks again for the follows and the comments. I am totally loving this story at this moment. It took me a little longer to update because I tried really hard to edit this one so there wouldn't be any grammatical errors (there still are, I'm sure), but I am trying to be a little better about not just posting because it's done and I like the story line.

I also had to start writing another more fluffy piece about Hermione and Charlie W., because the intensity in this one was getting to me a bit. Needed something a little more lighthearted to get me through some of the darker chapters of this story as I write them!

Please continue to comment and let me know what you think! I love hearing from you.

OHHHH.

I also felt I should explain the title of the story and the titles of the chapters. For those of you who haven't figured it out, the title of the story is modeled after the song 'Happiness is a Warm Gun', which was written and recorded by The Beatles (I also don't own this song). I've taken lyrics from said song and changed out some of the words for words within the Harry Potter universe. That's where the titles come from. I felt the song was fitting. So -

Happiness is a Warm Gun = Happiness is a Warm Wand

Bang, Bang; Shoot, Shoot = Curse, Curse; Charm, Charm

She's Not a Girl, Who Misses Much = She's Not a Witch, Who Misses Much

Like a Lizard on a Window Pane = Like a Blast-Ended Skrewt on a Window Pane

DISCLAIMER:

I do not own the original story line or characters from the Harry Potter series. J.K. Rowling does.

I do not own the original lyrics to 'Happiness is a Warm Gun' by the Beatles.

* * *

The thump of too-loud music had been drifting up the stairs and creeping under the crack of her closed door for almost an hour before Hermione's curiosity had drawn her out of her room. After padding down the narrow staircase, she had stopped short, one foot poised in the air as she surveyed the small hallway that led to the kitchenette, sitting room, tiny half-bath and front door of the small house.

At first, she thought that she might have been dreaming.

Stepping down into the hallway, she ran a hand over what _used_ to be cracked and peeling plaster. The walls were now perfectly smooth, and the wallpaper covering it was a beautiful dark green hue that was glossy and dramatic. The wooden floor beneath her dirty sock-clad feet was polished and brightly gleaming, and she realized with a start that this was due to the several hanging light fixtures that now dotted the hallways ceiling where there had once been a single, dim bulb. Placing a hand on the wall in confusion, she realized that there was a print of small, matte dragons coiling all over the new wallpaper. They were barely noticeable, their color only a slightly darker green, and she would swear on _Hogwarts, A History_ that the one closest to her hand had twitched its tail slightly.

When she had finally recovered and stumbled into the kitchenette, she found the entire room scrubbed intensely clean, and the normally grimy surfaces were spotless. A delicate chandelier now hung above the table, which no longer leaned to one side, and she could see that the one cabinet door that had never sat quite right when closed had been fixed. She found the whole effect so nice that she would have sat herself at the table and just took it all in if she had not been brought back to reality by the sounds of shuffling that now accompanied the drifting music coming from the direction of the sitting room. She allowed herself to follow the sounds until she was stopped just outside the room, and felt the foreign sensation of a giggle bubble up inside her at what she found.

His back turned slightly towards her, Malfoy was in the center of the now furnished room. He was concentrating intently on transfiguring a decidedly tired looking cardboard box into something, and his tongue was tucked between his white teeth as it's shape began to waver. Sweat had stuck the back of his now shaggy silver-blonde hair to the nape of his neck, and the undershirt he was wearing to his back. She was surprised to see that he was wearing sweatpants, of all things, and the giggle escaped her in a rush of sound.

The brief burst of laughter must have sapped him of his concentration, because his head snapped toward her and the box returned to it's previous forlorn state on the still dull wooden floor. He obviously hadn't finished this room as of yet, and she had noted with slight interest that before the usual Malfoy scowl shuttered back onto his face, he had been wearing an expression that she had never seen on him before. She realized with a jolt that it had been one of _happiness_ , and she fought another giggle that rose in her throat as she watched a blush creep up his neck to color his cheeks.

Once his normal scowl was firmly in place, he quickly crossed to the small radio that was perched on a side table that definitely had not been there the day before and turned it off with a snap.

"Don't you laugh at me, Granger."

His voice held a warning, and his feet shifted awkwardly as he tracked her movements around the (now) brightly lit room.

Feeling the brush of third giggle on the tip of her tongue, she tried to swallow it unsuccessfully as she ran her hands over a tasseled lampshade perched atop an ornate brass lamp. The opulence and detail were Malfoy to the very core. The faded yellow couch that had sagged with her small weight everyday as Malfoy worked on her arm was now an overstuffed dark-brown leather affair, and she felt the urge to test it out. Dropping down onto it, she begrudgingly admitted to herself that Malfoy had done an excellent, if not exuberant, job. It was firm but comfy, and the leather was warm beneath her palms as she ran her hands over the smooth surface.

"I just..."

Another giggle.

"I just never thought I'd ever watch _The Draco Malfoy_ playing interior decorator." She finally choke out, unable to stop the smile that was making the unused muscles in her face ache.

Throwing a heated glare over his shoulder as he turned back to the box he had previously been trying to transfigure, he raised his wand once again. She watched as the box rose and trembled before stretching out to become a cozy looking leather chair - a mate for the couch.

"I never thought that _I_ would see the day when _Know-it-All Goody-Two-Shoes Hermione Granger_ would shut up for more than two minutes at a time. So I guess we're even." He retorted, levitating the chair into place next to the couch.

"Just because you are fine living in filth doesn't mean that I want to. If I'm going to be here for awhile, I'd prefer if the wasn't _dust_ on everything." He muttered.

The stupid grin still glued on her face, Hermione shook her head an another giggle burst forth. Malfoy simply threw another look of disgust at her and went to work on the wooden floor. The silence stretched out between them as he concentrated on his task, and she felt her smile fade as she watched him, lost in her own thoughts.

"Sometimes, I think that the world has turned upside down." Hermione blurted out quietly, her eyes tracing the ever-so-faint _mudblood_ that scrawled across her un-bandaged arm. Quickly dropping her hand to cover the barely there scar, she wondered why she had felt the need to tell him what she had been thinking.

When he didn't respond, she lifted her eyes to find him draping his lanky form over the cardboard-box-turned-chair. He frowned at her, quirking a platinum eyebrow as if to ask what she meant. Struggling to keep the numbness at bay when she felt it scratching at the back of her eyes, she sighed and pulled her legs up underneath her.

"If someone had told me even a year ago that I would be living in a house in France with you without any kind of torture involved, I would have laughed in their bloody face. If they had gone on to tell me that not only would we be civil, but you would be healing me, touching my mudblood self daily before redecorating the kitchen, I would have sent them straight to St. Mungo's."

She knew that of all the things that had shaken up her sheltered little universe, the one she had just mentioned was piffle in comparison. She was more shocked by Harry's lack of tenacity and Ron's cowardice than simply sitting in a room with Malfoy and not pummeling him with her fists. A part of her had secretly hoped that her parent's love for her would not allow any memories of her to be wiped from their mind, but it had been surprisingly easy to do, and just as easy for her to hold a small grudge against them for it. She quickly pinched the skin on her exposed thigh just below the edge of her sleep shorts to keep her mind from wandering in that direction, and instead focused on how Malfoy was going to react to what she had said.

Hermione knew that he was a volatile person. Malfoy was on their side, but his moods were more than unpredictable and his anger apparent in the very way he moved around the cramped safe house. She hadn't been sure of anything or anyone in a long time, least of all him, so she watched his face carefully for how he would react to her words. For some reason, it mattered that he not be angry with her right now. Merlin knows that she didn't care most of the time what he thought, but for this moment, she did. She chalked it up to forced companionship, allowing herself to believe that she only cared about how he felt now because he was all she had. When he did nothing except for lift his other eyebrow at her, most likely in surprise at the fact that she had cursed, she felt relief, warm and sticky, spread through her. He looked slightly uncomfortable, and she was surprised to find out that she rather liked being the cause of that. He fiddled with his wand for a few moments before a small smirk crept over his face.

"Maybe you're right, Granger. Maybe the world really has been turned upside down." He chuckled.

"I haven't seen that stuck-up little nose of yours tucked into a book the entire time I've been here. If that isn't proof that the world is ending, nothing else is."

Hermione almost cringed at the small zing of electricity that zinged in her chest at the pleasant sound of his laugh. Frowning, she considered what he had said. She hadn't read anything in months. In fact, in her post-injury haze, she hadn't even brought any books with her. It was like she had forgotten who she was. She wondered if the new Hermione Granger, the one that sat peacefully in a room with Malfoy, the one who didn't question his loyalty and let him heal her, no longer loved to read. Looking down at her hands and her bandaged arm, she felt her vision begin to swim with uncertainty as she contemplated this bit of information.

She didn't notice that Malfoy had gone rather still, wary that he had said the wrong thing and that it would usher in the quiet Granger he had grown to loathe. He had learned that the only way to read her was by watching what she did with her hands. If they tensed into tight fists, moments later, the rest of her would as well. If they were moving upwards, so was her anger. Hermione also didn't see the relief that swept over his features as the minutes ticked by without a retreat, her hands resting un-tensed in her lap. He was surprised that for once, he was alright with the silence that surrounded them.

* * *

When she opened her bedroom door the next morning, she nearly tripped over a small pile of objects that had been placed there as if to cause that very thing. Bending down, she regarded the leather-bound items with interest, picking up the first one and reading it's title.

When Malfoy walked by her open door half an hour later, the books had all been arranged in an alphabetical stack on her small night table, and she was sitting cross-legged on the bed, brow furrowed as she turned the page in one of the healing manuals he had left for her. He was more than a little panicked at the feeling that had developed in his stomach when he saw her reading, and he quickly shut himself in his room. Not sure what to do with whatever it was that was happening inside him, he cast a silencing spell before pommeling the wall with his fists, willing the feeling to go away.

* * *

"How is it any different than hating someone for being muggleborn?" She argued, tucking a piece of hair that had escaped her messy bun behind her ear.

"I never said that I hate them." Blaise snorted, pushing his empty plate away from him. Hermione never knew whether to be impressed or disgusted by how fast he was able to make a plate of food disappear.

"I just said that I'm not comfortable being _around_ one."

"Oh please!" Hermione said, jabbing at him with her fork to emphasize her point.

"Are you really so arrogant as to think that every gay guy you meet is going to hit on you?"

Lowering the fork to stab a piece of steak with a little more force than necessary, she glowered at Blaise across the table. Pansy was laughing into her plate as she sat balanced on the counter, clearly enjoying Hermione's prowess at debating and her slight dig at Blaise's ego.

Malfoy was grinning as well, and he threw up his hands when Blaise looked to him for support.

"You're on your own, mate." He said, laughing as Blaise rolled his eyes at him,

"I'm with Hermione on this one."

He shifted uncomfortably as Hermione's piercing gaze latched on to him, surprise evident on her face, a piece of steak a few centimeters from her mouth. Finding himself concentrating on her lips again, he blinked quickly and scowled.

"What?" He questioned, angry that she would just assume that he would be a homophobe.

The silence was filled by the quiet static of the radio next to Pansy on the counter, before it was broken by Hermione's giggle. Feeling defensive, his scowl deepened.

"Some of my best mates are gay." He said, as if this should explain everything.

He tried to hate the look that she was giving him now, one filled with begrudging respect and something he couldn't identify, but he couldn't stop the warmth that was spreading through his chest because of it. It was hard to be angry when she was actually speaking and laughing, eating dinner with them and wearing jeans and a jumper like she wasn't some kind of messed up martyr. The pleasant mood was broken a moment later, however, when Pansy had gravely hushed them, turning up the radio to full volume as a voice came crackling out.

* * *

It had been far too easy to slip back into her emotionless stupor.

If only they had turned off that stupid radio. They had all listened intently as the voices of Potterwatch had filled the room. Still underground, the Ministry had encouraged the George and his friends to continue the pirate radio program that updated those on the outskirts of the wizarding community on news of the war. Hermione had quietly risen from her seat, hoping to make an escape to her room before the list of the dead began. She was halfway across the kitchenette when she realized that she was too late.

 _"Seamus Finnegan..."_

She had felt the black hole in her chest start to swirl and her ears start to buzz as she stood frozen in place for a moment. Unaware that Malfoy had been watching her escape, she didn't notice his worried gaze as he stood up from the table and approached her, hands jumping at his sides as he tried to figure out what to do. With a sharp crack, she had apparated into her bedroom, her magic closing and locking the door behind her.

She didn't know how long she'd been up here, but she had no intention of moving anytime soon. She closed her eyes and let her mind sink back into the blackness that chased away the guilt and anguish.

* * *

"YOU HAD BETTER PUT ME DOWN RIGHT THIS MINUTE YOU ABSOLUTE ARSEHOLE!"

She brought another hard fist down on Malfoy's back as he hefted her over his shoulder as if she was as heavy as a pillow. When he didn't answer or put her down, she began kicking her legs, hoping to catch the idiot in the face with her flailing feet. He was taking her somewhere, and by the look she had managed to catch on his face when he had broken through her spells on her door and before he had so rudely picked her up, he wasn't going to put her down.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, YOU GIT-"

She spluttered, realizing that he was carrying her towards the bathroom where she could hear the spray of the shower running. Realizing what he was about to do, she desperately clawed at his back, anger contorting her face with effort, but it did not good. He shut the door behind him and lifted her off his shoulder, unceremoniously shoving her still clothed body under the warm water pouring out of the shower head. Spitting out water, she tried to climb out, but he simply shoved her back in. She stilled when she heard the tone in his voice.

"You are going to shower and come downstairs, Granger. You are going to shower, and stop with this fucking selfish nonsense right this instant. You have been holed up in that dank room of yours for DAYS, and I'm NOT DEALING WITH IT ANYMORE. So either you agree to shower, come downstairs for tea, and let me clean that BLOODY FESTERING WOUND OF YOURS, or I swear to Godric, I will shower you myself."

Curled up in the bathtub, her face finally free from the stream of water that had already drenched her impossible hair, she scowled at his crossed arms and angry face, the steam in the bathroom seeming to almost bolster her anger as she shouted back.

"Well seeing as how I am already SOAKING BLOODY WET, I GUESS I WILL!"

She fumed, struggling to get to her feet before ripping off her sopping wet t-shirt and beginning to unbutton her pants. She gritted her teeth in triumph when she saw Malfoy blush in shock before quickly turning his body away from hers in an effort to not look at her standing in only a bra and a pair of jeans. Clearing his throat, he seemed at a loss for words. Stripping off her sodden jeans, she angrily threw them at his turned back, smiling grimly in satisfaction as they hit him with a wet smack.

Almost ripping the shower curtain off It's hooks as she tugged it closed, she heard Malfoy cursing as he opened and then slammed the door to the bathroom shut. At his retreat, she felt the anger that had been holding her body up rush out of her, until she was once again sitting on the floor of the tub, her hands holding her head up. She couldn't tell the difference between the water and her tears when she finally hefted herself back up, removed the rest of her clothing, and grabbed a bar of soap.

* * *

As Malfoy bandaged up the noticeably smaller wound on her arm, she tried to stop the blush she felt heating her cheeks from intensifying. She was deeply regretting her little anger fueled strip-tease at the moment, and couldn't seem to meet his eyes. She miserably continued to avoid his gaze as he finished and left the room, and didn't look up to meet his eyes when he came back in moments later with two cups of tea. He placed one of the cups on the side table next to her, and settled back into the leather armchair. They sat silently like that for a few minutes, but she felt her anger flare up again when she glanced over at Malfoy and found him shaking with repressed laughter.

Watching him in stunned silence, she almost threw a hex at him when she noticed the tears of mirth that were gathered at the corner of his eyes. Unable to keep it in any longer, a very undignified snort shot out of his mouth, and with that sound, all of Hermione's anger suddenly seemed to dissipate, and the absurdity of what had just happened between the two of them washed over her, causing her own lip to twitch with an unwelcome smile.

Draco Malfoy had seen her in just a bra. She had _thrown her pants at him_. _He had just made her a fucking cup of tea._

Pressing a hand to her mouth to try and suppress her own laughter, she felt one of her own feminine giggles slip out, and she soon found herself laughing just as hard as Malfoy. When they had finally quieted down a few minutes later, Blaise and Pansy had stumbled into the room in confusion, obviously having heard them, and they both started up again as the two looked at them as if they were mental.

* * *

She had known, deep down, that Blaise and Pansy had been shagging each other for quite some time. There were little clues, like the way that Blaise smiled at Pansy across the kitchen table, and the way Pansy always seemed to go up to bed right after Blaise did. It was a different thing altogether, however, to hear the confirmation of this fact later that night as she lay in her own bed trying to read by wand light.

They had obviously forgotten a silencing spell, and as she grumpily cast one of her own to drown out their fevered activity, she tried not to think about what they were doing and how long it had been since she had done the same. She tried to numb away the dull ache in her chest and the thoughts about the shambled relationship she had with Ron, but she just couldn't seem to muster the strength. Tonight, she needed to feel something, even if it was regret and loss. For the first time in a very long time, Hermione welcomed her sadness, and cried until she couldn't anymore. Then she wiped her eyes, picked up her book, and continued reading.

* * *

A/N:

Okie Dokie, Readers! There it is!

Review, review, review!

Dia


	4. With the Touch of a Magic Hand

Helllo! Sorry for the long wait. But here it is! The next chapter. Big thanks to Ci for helping me out!

Once again, please review. Can't improve without it.

Also, I don't own the original characters or story lines.

* * *

He didn't really do this very often.

Really, he only did it when he was desperate, and he usually wasn't.

Licking the pad of his thumb before gently swiping it across the tip, he wrapped his hand around his shaft and groaned before focusing on the rather pleasing scene he had imagined up for this. It was a one he had fantasized about every since around his fourth year, and he knew it was guaranteed to get him off quickly. As he slowly pumped his fist, he pictured one of the Patil twins leaving little wet kisses all down his stomach as she traveled south, while her sister was at his side, her lips sucking at his neck right below his ear. Slightly increasing his speed, he imagined the twin between his thighs wrapping her own hand around him in a soft grip, her lips parted as she slid her fist up and down. The other Patil had grabbed his hand, bringing it down between her legs while still latched onto his throat. He thought about how wet she would be, and he felt the familiar coil tightening right below his belly button that let him know he was well on his way to a satisfying ending. He concentrated on the twin between his legs again, and he made her bend down and wrap her lips around him, looking back up at him with wide, brown eyes.

Suddenly, the picture shimmered hazily and the scene began to change. The wide brown eyes now belonged to Granger, who was standing in front of him in those ridiculously tight jeans and just a bra, soaked from the shower that he had forced her into taking. She was scowling at him, just like she had when the incident had actually happened, but all he could think about was how flat her stomach looked and the way her hips flared out in the most feminine way. He briefly wondering what it would have been like to run his hands over her shower-wet skin.

Malfoy's eyes shot open and his hand, which had been furiously at work, stilled.

 _What the fuck_.

Shaking his head and pushing the intrusive thoughts about Granger to the back of his mind, he took a deep breath and started to move his hand again. He tried to conjure up the Patil twins once more, but instead as he pumped, Malfoy was presented with another image of Granger, wearing those tiny sleep shorts that showed off her long, tan legs. The picture changed again, and those legs were on either side of him as she sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, her breath catching in her throat as he pushed those shorts roughly to the side.

Growling in frustration, he tried to morph her image into one of Daphne Greengrass, but instead, Sleep-Short Granger turned back into Shower-Time Granger, and he watched once more as she ripped off her t-shirt and threw it to the ground. This time, he didn't turn away, and he watched the water pour over her body as she began to unbutton those bloody jeans, and she held his eyes as she shimmied them down and off her legs.

His couldn't seem to still his hand or his thoughts. It was as if his common sense had given up, and he lost himself to the fantasy. Now they were in the shower together, and he was sucking on the space between the corner of her collarbone and the start of her neck as she made little sounds in the back of her throat. As he drew closer to his climax, the scene would shift rapidly. One moment, one of her hands was wrapped in his hair and other had settled between her own legs. Another moment and she was facing away from him, her hands spread out on the slippery wall in front of her as he joined them together from behind. His hand was moving mind-numbingly fast now, and he could here her begging, asking him to give her what she needed, telling how much she needed it, _Draco please_ , and _more_ , and _wet,_ and _deep_ , and suddenly she was on her knees, and he was in her throat, and _he_ was begging, and she looked up at him with those innocent wide brown eyes and he was finishing in her mouth, surrounded by those _pink fucking lips._

* * *

"You can imagine how relieved I am."

Scowling at the floor in front of the fireplace, Malfoy tried to keep his voice steady as he replied.

"I'm sure you are. Can't have one of Potty's friends knocking on death's door, can we?"

In the brief pause after his words, Malfoy concentrated on a small crack in one of the otherwise perfect floorboards he had charmed. He didn't trust himself to look at the flaming image of Arthur Weasley's head, lest he be tempted to ram his fist into his fiery face.

"Believe it or not, Malfoy, I care about Hermione a great deal." The emotion in Arthur's voice was thick and truthful. Draco didn't care. "We've considered her a part of our family for quite sometime. This...rough patch she seems to have hit with Ron doesn't change that."

Malfoy felt his fists contract at the mention of The Weasel, and he tried to blink away the barrage of unwelcome emotions that washed over him. Rough patch? Pansy had told him that Hermione hadn't seen Ron in over a year. The eldest Weasley was delusional if he thought that they would be getting back together. He quickly shook away these thoughts before finally looking up at the man in the fire.

"I really couldn't care less, Weasley. I didn't fire-call you to blather on about how you feel about the girl. I called you to let you know that she has healed sufficiently, and that it's time you held up your end of the bargain and get me the fuck out of here."

The venom in his voice could have melted rock. He was desperate. He wanted to be out of this bloody house and away from that damn girl. He wanted to be around other people again. He had chalked up his Granger-fueled-wank-fest to the fact that she was the only inspiration he had at that moment, and to his loneliness coupled with a dash of boredom. He ignored the voice in the back of his head that softly reminded him that Granger wasn't, in fact, the only female in the house, and that the other female was one he had actually _slept with_ and had vivid memories of doing so.

The point, he had decided, was that being cooped up in such close proximity to the melodramatic witch was messing with his head. And he did _not_ like it. He had been less than kind to her in the days following his little indiscretion, and was more than a little relieved to find her wound had healed to a point where it no longer needed his services. She was healed, his debt was paid, and it was time for him to get away from her. A sigh crackled out of the fire, and he watched as Weasley shook his head before replying. As he spoke, Malfoy noticed with disdain that his red hair was even brighter when surrounded by the jumping flames.

"We are working on placing both you and Hermione. You're going to have to be patient. For the time being, sit tight. We will notify you when we decide to move you."

Malfoy felt anger, sharp and hot, prickling at his fingertips, but before he could let Weasley know just how patient the Malfoy men could be, Arthur's head disappeared with a pop. He supposed that was pay back for his own rude cutoff the last time they had spoken.

When he was done taking out his anger on the leather arm chair, he carefully repaired it with steady hands.

Weasels, the whole lot of them.

* * *

"What crawled up your arse?"

Granger was leaning against the kitchen counter, head cocked to the side as she observed him. He opened his mouth to send a snotty retort back at the annoying little witch, but snapped it shut when a few of the images he had thought up the other day that involved her and the kitchen counter floated across his vision. He shifted his jaw before turning without a word and exiting the kitchen, leaving a confused Hermione behind him.

He would make a sandwich later.

* * *

He couldn't stand her in the morning.

Taking a generous swig from the low-ball glass of firewhiskey he had chosen for his breakfast, he followed her agitated movements with his eyes as she paced back in forth in the living room.

"There has to be a way to convince them to let me fight again."

She had been saying things like that for almost ten full minutes, ever since she had barged in on his previously peaceful morning pity party. Feeling his annoyance at her very _being_ boil over, he clunked his glass down on the side table and sat forward on the couch, a snort escaping him before he could stop it. Immediately turning towards him, she frowned and tugged at one of her curls.

"What?" She asked.

Rolling his eyes, he fixed her with a silver glare.

"Why did you even want to fight in the first place?" He asked, the drink numbing his jumpy nerves enough to allow for conversation. "If what I've been told is true, you and The Weasel were well protected until you decided to start actively engaging in suicide by fighting."

He watched the emotions his words had brought on color her face, and couldn't stop the smirk from sliding onto his own features. He had largely been ignoring her lately, but he had known this wouldn't last forever. His plan was simple; when ignoring didn't work, he would make her so angry that she wouldn't speak to him. Then, when he finally got away from her, he could live out the rest of his life free of thoughts about her and her stupid sleep shorts.

"Don't bloody smile at me like that, you absolute arse." She said, the anger in her words blistering as she clenched her fists. "I know it must be hard for you, of all people, to understand the concept of _bravery_ , but I didn't think you were an idiot."

Malfoy felt her anger wash over him in welcoming waves. When his own answering anger rose up in response, the firewhiskey and his general frustration kept the filter he normally had firmly in place when speaking to her pushed far below his consciousness.

"Bravery? Stupid little Gryffindor. What you refer to as bravery is nothing more than heroic idiocy. You think I don't know what it means to be brave? I _left_ , Granger. I saw what he and his followers could do, I watched the torture his underlings doled out to those who betrayed him, and I left. Not to mention that I chose to come to _your_ side, to give _your_ friends information to help defeat them. Bravery isn't running headlong into a fight and praying that you don't die. So what was it really, Princess? Why did you actually decide to leave Freckles McWeasel behind?"

During the course of his little tirade, he had watched her confusion at his words with a dull sense of satisfaction. Instead of causing her to crumble, or hope against hope, leave, his words seemed to bolster her.

"You want to know why I left him?" She asked, her voice deadly quiet. "You think bravery is leaving Voldemort's side after he had already been defeated? Bravery is being on the right side to begin with. Bravery is still waking up every morning and going through your day, even though from the second you open your eyes, the faces of everyone that you have lost parade across your vision. I left because I couldn't stand by while more of the people I loved never came home. I left because the amount of little witches and wizards being orphaned everyday was unfathomable to me. I left because I wanted to feel something other than sadness and hopelessness!"

Malfoy blinked as the volume of her voice continued to increase with every word.

"I was tired of the guilt and the nightmares and I just COULDN'T anymore." She continued. "I just couldn't _sit_ there like Ron, waiting for someone else to win the fight for us!"

Defiant tears were streaming down her face as she screamed this at him, and he wished she would wipe them away. He was starting to regret the entire conversation, if you could even call it that.

"You know what the worst part in all of this is, Malfoy?" She questioned, cocking her head to the side in a manner that very much likened her to an insane parrot. "The worst part is, I got my wish. I don't feel sad or hopeless all the time anymore. Instead, I don't feel anything most of the time. I can't bring myself to care about myself, or Harry, or even Ron. I would have thought that would be better. But it's not. Its far, far worse."

The hollowness in her words rang true, and Malfoy shifted uncomfortably in his seat as she stared at him with round, watery eyes.

"I don't want to be numb anymore. But if I'm not numb, I'm sad. I want to feel something, Malfoy. Something not associated with death or loss."

Like a bolt of lightning, his anger struck him without warning, directly in his chest. She wasn't the only one who had lost someone. She wasn't the only one who felt sad or hopeless, and she wasn't the only one who felt less than human sometimes.

"A bit melodramatic, aren't you?" He drawled back, amazed at how calm his voice sounded despite the alcohol and anger roaring through his mind. Standing from the couch and stalking towards her, he could almost feel the frustration oozing through the cracks of her good-girl facade. Distantly, he thought it might not have been the best idea to get this close to her.

"How do you think that will work out if you go back to fighting, hmm?" He asked, the snarl catching on his words. "I'll tell you. You're going to start the same vicious cycle all over again. You will end up back in here, wounded and numb. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over again and expecting different results. If you want to feel again, something other than the pathetic melancholic stupors you fall into, the last thing you should be doing is the thing that made you that way, you little idiot. Accept it. Your fighting days are over. If you want to help, find another way."

She closed the gap between them in a matter of a few seconds, her face the picture of hate and anger.

"That's what you don't seem to understand, Malfoy." She said, her tone low and menacing. "If I fight, I most likely die. If I stay here, I won't want to live. So guess what I'm going to choose?"

When Hermione proceeded to try and push past him after this proclamation, Malfoy watched in wonder as his own hand shot out, gripping her elbow hard enough to stop her before using it to turn her towards him again. He found it interestingthat she did this to him, that she made him feel out of control. Her eyes roamed his face, searching for some kind of explanation, and his gaze dropped to her lips as she puffed small, agitated breaths out of them. When his gaze drifted back up again to find hers, the confusion he saw there kept him rooted to the spot.

They stood like that for almost twenty long seconds, until his grip finally relaxed and she backed away. Without a word, he broke their eye contact and stalked out of the room.

Clearly, firewhiskey and Granger did not mix well for him.

* * *

They hadn't said a word to each other in four days. The relief he felt over that fact was overwhelming.

Blaise and Pansy seemed to sense the tension, and their less than subtle efforts to fix whatever was going on made meal times since their return a day before last more than awkward. Dinner the previous night had been full of overly cheerful small talk from the two other Slytherins and stubbornly set jawlines from Malfoy and Granger, and this one was not fairing any better. Keeping his eyes trained resolutely on his plate, Malfoy saw Pansy open her mouth out of the corner of his eye, and groaned inwardly. He didn't think he could take one more conversation between her and Blaise involving the "lovely weather we're having!". It was England, for Salazar's sake. It was miserable outside and miserable inside. Before Pansy could speak, however, the alarm charms that the Order had set up on their front door started to blare, and through the noise, he heard the unmistakable sound of a knock.

The four witches and wizards looked at one another with varying levels of fear and confusion before Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed her chair back from the table. The minute she was up and walking, Malfoy was behind her, wand out as the tip emitted light. As they entered the hallway, he briskly pushed past her, and before she could protest, he whipped open the door. Blinking at the two figures standing on their tiny stoop, he held up his wand, illuminating the red hair atop each of the visitors' head.

* * *

"They've been in there for over an hour." Malfoy growled, casting a charm that sent glowing numbers noting the time floating through the air once more.

"They're her friends, you git." Blaise said, raising his eyebrows and grinning at his angry friend. "I'm pretty sure she's just fine. Besides, what difference does it make to you?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes before shooting Blaise a nasty look. "None whatsoever, unless you factor in that her health is my ticket out of here. How could Arthur have thought that sending Weasel King and Weaseltte here would be a good idea? She was doing better!"

That wasn't entirely true, considering that they had been giving each other the silent treatment, but all Malfoy could think about was how much he hated the Weasley family at this moment. If Ron sent her back into an emotionless coma, he swore he would rip every last ginger hair from his idiotic head.

Pushing away from the counter he was leaning on, he began to pace in front of the table again.

"Give it a rest, Draco. There's nothing you can do. For all you know, they're having a friendly little chat. Ron and her have probably made amends and they're sitting there making plans for their future tacky wedding. Which, I for one, hope I get invited to. Is there any formal attire that _doesn't_ clash with red hair? It's going to be a nightmare."

As Blaise chuckled at the thought, Malfoy felt the anger building inside him once again. What was it about her that made him want to punch everything whenever she was brought up in conversation? Blaise had been watching Malfoy's face carefully, and when the blond resumed his pacing, he had a thoughtful look on his face.

"Seriously, Draco. Why are you so upset right now?" He goaded, curiosity shining in his dark eyes. "Maybe they are here to take her off your hands. Isn't that what you want?"

Malfoy considered this, and halted his pacing, plopping down into the chair across the table from Blaise.

"Yes, it is." He replied through gritted teeth. "I want it to be me who is leaving more, but honestly, I will do whatever it takes to get away from _her_."

* * *

Never trust a red head.

Over the past four days, Malfoy had tried valiantly to control the massive amount of anger that had been coursing through his veins. He had not been very successful. Blaise and Pansy had left on a mission almost two full days before, and Hermione hadn't come out of her room since the Red Head Brigade had come to visit. He sent another round of sparks from his wand at the crude drawing of Ron Weasley that he had taped to the wall in the sitting room at the thought. He had sent a carefully worded owl to the idiot's father, but had heard nothing in return. He had even tried to break into the stupid little Gryffindor's room, but her spells were so strong that his blond hair had stood on end when he approached her door.

Growling to himself, the next jet he sent at the tattered portrait had a little too much force behind it, and it burst into flames. Sighing, he quickly uttered a spell to put out the flames, but couldn't bring himself to charm the scorch marks off the wall. It might not have been so bad if she had actually tried to _talk_ about whatever happened. Instead, she had stood in the doorway to the living room and watched as Ron stormed to the front door, threw it open, and sent one last glare back at her before apparating off the front stoop.

Malfoy, who had jumped up the moment he heard the sound of the sitting room door opening and rushed into the hallway, had watched all this happening female Weasley had tried to talk to Hermione after the chimp she called a brother left, buzzing around her like a worried mother hen, but Malfoy had known the minute he saw her face that she was gone to whatever world she entered when she didn't wish to feel anything anymore. After a few minutes, she had simply walked towards the stairs, ignoring the youngest Weasley's worried questions and soothing words. She didn't even look back before climbing the stairs and closing her door with a soft click.

Taking a swig from the rather large glass of firewhiskey he had taken to pouring himself every morning now, he tried to shake all thoughts of the Weasleys and the Gryffindor princess from his mind. He had successfully managed to get himself off the day before with barely any thoughts about Granger at all, and thought that he deserved a little treat for his efforts and tenacity. He found that the alcohol had two distinctly different effects on his thoughts lately; it would either cause him to forget Granger entirely for large of chunks of time, or it would cause him to obsessively dwell on her. Today, unfortunately, he was experiencing the second.

Closing his eyes, he wondered for the hundreth time what she was _doing_ up there, but stopped as soon as his imagination veered down a dirty road. Jumping up off the couch that he had been laying on while playing target practice, he considered going upstairs and whaling on her door until it finally gave way. Before he could move, however, several things happened at once.

A sweaty, singed, and out of breath Pansy with wild and tearful eyes apparated into the sitting room.

"Blaise has been captured." She wheezed out, the pain she was feeling echoing in her words. "You and Hermione have to leave. NOW."

As fast as she had appeared, she was now gone, but the panic and terror she had brought with her stayed behind. Malfoy's mind raced with questions laced with fear, and he jumped when he heard the booming voice of Arthur Weasley reverberate through the house.

"YOUR SAFE HOUSE HAS BEEN COMPROMISED. PLEASE APPARATE TO YOUR ASSIGNED SECOND SAFE HOUSE LOCATION. YOUR SAFE HOUSE HAD BEEN COMPROMISED. PLEASE APPARATE TO YOUR ..."

The voice droned on as Malfoy prepared to apparate, but before he could follow through, he stopped in his tracks.

Hermione.

There was a chance that her silencing charms had been strong enough to keep Arthur's voice from penetrating her door.

Running as fast as he could, Malfoy tripped up the stairs and blasted open her bedroom door. Without stopping to think about how he had managed to break through her spells and charms, he charged at her as she stood by the window in her room, grabbing her body and dragging it close to his without a word of explanation. She stared up into his eyes in confusion as he quickly apparated them to the only safe house he could think of. He broke the gaze as they landed, a breathless tangle of limbs and bodies, and glanced around at their opulent and familiar surroundings before quickly shoving her form away from him. Stumbling backwards, Hermione almost knocked over a pedestal with an ornate vase his Aunt Bellatrix had given her mother with the Malfoy crest on it. As she quickly steadied the artifact, he watched the shift in her posture as she glanced down at the vase and understanding began to dawn behind her dark eyes.

"Are we-" She asked, accusation in her tone.

"Well." He interrupted, a note of dismay in his voice. "I guess there's no place like home."

* * *

So that's it! Please review away!


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